


Blaze in the North

by Spirit2004



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5508773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirit2004/pseuds/Spirit2004
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two promises made by an honorable man, one rooted in love, another in mercy. Two promises that may determine the entire future of the North and the Seven Kingdoms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stormborn (Eddard I)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first published fanfiction, so I am a little nervous about it. English is not my first language either, so there is another reason for me to be a little hesitant. I will be honest that at the moment I do not know where I want to go with the story and how frequently I am able to update new chapters. I just started to write for the fun of it. What I want to do though is to make significant changes from the books, how significant though I cannot say. You'll have to wait and see. :)  
> And of course: The world and characters of A song of Ice and Fire are George R.R. Martins and only his. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddard Stark besieges the last castle of House Targaryen: Dragonstone. Through the greatest storm for centuries Lord Stark tries to do King Robert's bidding and get hold of the last remaining Dragons.

Eddard Stark I - Stormborn

The storm raged unlike any Ned had seen before. Cold and angry winds blew into his face, almost commanding him to forfeit his sea siege on Dragonstone. He’d gladly done that if his king hadn’t ordered him to do so.

_Better me than the Lannisters_ , he thought with cold rage blazing in his heart. Ned doubted that his resentment would ever evaporate. The memory of the atrocities done by Lord Tywin and his men in King’s Landing were still fresh in his mind and he was sure to never forget the cool, but smug look of the _Lion of Casterly Rock_ when he delivered the crushed corpses of Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen. Especially Aegon had been so small; he couldn’t have been older than a year, most likely still on his mother’s teats and unable to take steps. He did not see the Mountain and Amory Lorch that day; if he had he would have loved to grace _Ice_ with their blood on its blade.

_How someone finds it in his heart to kill a babe and a defenseless little girl in such a manner eludes me. All the seven hells are not enough for such a monstrous and cruel crime_ , he brooded, but got thrown back to the task at hand by the anxious shouting of the soldiers, apparently concerned about the repeated crashing of the waves against the hull of the ship and the amount of water falling onto the deck. The furious gusts left him shaking and he hoped to survive this storm, this siege, this bloody war and everything that led to it; a war that took away almost everything he held dear.

“ _Promise me_ ,” his dearest sister had whispered weakly, pleading with all the power left within, “ _Promise me, Ned_ ”. How could he have denied her? Said no to a request made with her last dying breath. He had loved her too much for that. He hadn’t seen his true born son yet, only read from Catelyn’s sweet words that their boy was healthy. 

Though Ned did not spend too many times on sea, he was sure that even experienced sailors haven’t seen too many storms of this sort.

_Like the gods themselves worked on keeping them from the island_ , Ned mused and grasped even harder on the railing to hold on for his life. The ship shook and moved far too fast and exceedingly for his own taste. Usually, he was not bothered much by seasickness, but even a seasoned sailor would be troubled to vomit once or twice under such conditions.

“We got through! We got through! There’s the harbor,” he heard someone shout in delight and Ned as well felt more at ease after hearing those words. It was close to a miracle that they have reached the island. Two men have fallen into the water and nothing could be done for them. Their screams, crying out for help could not be unheard though. Dying was rarely glorious despite the songs trying to make it seem otherwise. The garrison was thinly manned but probably enough to keep them from entering the castle halls. For now at least, until other ships passed the storm. _But would they?_ Ned worried.

“One step further and my arrow’ll pierce ya sorry ‘ead,” an archer said and stretched the bow he held. The archers on Ned’s side did the same, but that did not seem to intimidate the men on the wall the slightest.

“I am Lord Eddard Stark,” Ned declared in a booming voice, “Your defense is futile. We WILL break through. Let us pass and you shall be pardoned in the name of King Robert. I swear on the Old Gods and the New.”

“One traitor’s like the other,” the archer spat on the ground, “Ya sorry bunch can try, if ya prefer to die young and bloody. For anyone of ours, twenty of yours will die m’lord.”

“You are mistaken,” Ned answered, “We are just the first of many.”

Those words seemed to make the archer hesitate and look to the soldiers at his side.

_They do not know of the invasion_ , Ned pondered. Giving it some thought, it was of little surprise. Hardly any messages would come through the storm.

“We…we sell ya the Prince and the Queen, the unborn babe of hers as well. For the right price of course,” the man said, his bow still directed at him. _Unborn babe? Rhaella is with child?_ Ned had to ball his hand to fists and his lips twisted into a stoic line. _He would doom his lieges to their fates_ , Eddard fumed and made one step forward. The arrow did not come. What came unbidden though was the picture of a tiny hand sticking out of a scarlet shroud.

“Aye, I’ll make you a proposal. Open the gates right now and none of you shall be harmed; refuse to do so and every one of you will die in battle or hang from the closest gallows. The choice is yours.”

No answer came through, but hardly twenty heartbeats later the gates were opened. The walls were sparsely manned and only few of them were armed. Most of them looked tired and even more looked hungry. _They are tired of war and fear_. Eddard pitied them and turned to Rodrik Cassel not far from his side.

“Offer them food and water. They shall be left unharmed,” Ned ordered him. Rodrik nodded shortly and passed the commands on to the soldiers. Dragonstone was a barren place with an alien fascination to it. Three dragons atop its castle loomed large and menacing.

_Could Aegon the Conqueror have imagined an end to his dynasty like this? Would he have burned every highborn, every castle like he did with the Hoars and Harrenhall, if he had known?_

Ned turned to the archer, now sitting against the wall looking tired, but relieved as well. He was an uncomely lad, with a flat nose, small blue eyes and muddy brown hair that reached his shoulders with its tips. He couldn’t have celebrated more than sixteen namedays, probably even less. He looked concerned when Ned approached him.

“The Queen,” Ned immediately got to the point, his voice with an authoritarian depth to it, “Where is she?”

“In the Royal chambers, m’lord,” he murmured, his eyes directed to the rain stained ground and his voice hardly noticeable through the whistling winds that still raged. It was a miracle that they reached the coast unharmed. The Royal navy or better what had been left of it was utterly destroyed by the storm. “Her Grace was in the middle of giving birth while ya came. Has been for a while, she has.”    

Eddard nodded, looking up to the three mighty dragon statues. _Little arms and hands, sticking out of scarlet shrouds…_

“How many men are in the castle?” Eddard asked, keeping his eyes on the Targaryen’s ancestral home.

“A dozen, perhaps twenty at best. I doubt that many’ll be hostile, m’lord,” the lad explained, “Two guards protect Her Grace’s chambers.”

Eddard ordered fifty men to follow him into the castle. The people they met all eyed them sourly, but did not confront them. _They see when a fight is for naught_. At the chamber doors two soldiers stood, unsheathing their swords, one though more reluctant than the other.

“We will not let you pass. Her Grace is under our protection,” the more willing of the two roared and pointed his sword at Eddard. His compatriot seemed far less enthused to use his weapon though and looked irritated to the men at his side.

“There are fifty men against the two of you. Do not prolong the inevitable that is ought to happen whether you stand in our way or not,” Ned answered and unsheathed _Ice_ , “We will enter this room. You’ll decide if your blood is spilled before it or not.”

“We are honor bound not to let any of the Usurper’s dogs in,” the soldier said, his eyes cold and unbending, “We might die, but at least we lived fulfilling our duty.”

Eddard’s eyes softened. Good men died on both sides, this appears to be another of those occasions. He at least would give him the honor to face him directly. Ned took his fighting stance and the men behind him took their swords as well.

“As you wish, ser,” Eddard said and mere moments later parried the first strike of his opponent. He was quick and obviously knew how to swing a sword, but after facing the Sword of the Morning he was not sure anyone really did know how to wield a blade except Ser Arthur Dayne himself. Even his Sworn Brothers at the Tower of Joy looked like clumsy children next to him.

“ _Promise me,_ ” his late sister’s voice echoed in his head, “ _Promise me, Ned._ ”

Steel blurred against steel in quick succession. While Ned’s opponent threw one furious attack after the other, he defended the strikes with calculated calmness. It didn’t take long until the soldier’s strikes grew less frequent and with less power behind them. Once again the Targaryen loyalist tried to swing his blade down at him and Ned saw his chance to end this fight. He sidestepped from the falling blade’s direction and hit at the point where the neck and shoulder met. The Lord of Winterfell hit truly and the blood started spilling out of the resulted wound. A sword clattered on the marbled ground, both mouth and eyes were widened in apparent shock. With one swift pull he tore _Ice_ free and before the soldier’s body met the ground he drew his last breath.

Eddard raised his eyes looking straight at the other guard, whose face got noticeably pale. The arm he held his sword with hung limply to his side.

“I yield, m’lord,” he whispered, his gaze cast downward, “May the gods forgive me.”

“Is someone else within the chamber?” Eddard asked and sheathed _Ice_.

“Nah m’lord, only Her Grace and Maester Qwin are in there,” he whispered his eyes still not meeting Ned’s, “No one able of harming you.”

 “I will enter alone, carry the body out to the yard,” Ned ordered, “Bury him outside the walls.”

“M’lord, I don’t mean to impose,” the Targaryen soldier said quietly and met Eddard’s eyes for the first time, “But it is custom on Dragonstone and Driftmark alike to burn their people.”

“Of course ser, I forgot,” Ned answered, “It still rains heavily and the storm is as violent as it was before. It has to wait until it stops.”

The Targaryen soldier bowed lightly, “Of course, m’lord.”

Ned nodded to some men behind him, who stepped forward to carry the corpse to the yard. The other soldiers close by he commanded to take charge of the household and order the remaining Targaryen guards to the yard as well, but to refer from any violence. With only him remaining in the corridor leading to the Royal chamber, he hesitated for an instance. A blackened double door with a red dragon on either side came to his view. Ned took a deep breath and moved forward, careful not to step into blood spilled from the fight. He opened both doors simultaneously with a strong pull and the combined smell of blood and lavender was the first thing he noticed. The second was the Maester kneeling before the former Queen, whose face was distorted in pain. Barely a moment later, the crying of a newborn babe started to echo in the room.

“’Tis a girl, Your Grace,” the Maester whispered softly and held the newborn in his arms, “What shall be her name?”

Though clearly exhausted by the birthing process and despite being almost forty, she was beautiful. Her indigo eyes focused on Ned, a task in itself that took her more effort than it should. Ned feared the worst.

“Daenerys,” Rhaella drawled tiredly with a small smile on her face, “Daenerys Stormborn.”

Ned stepped to the side of the Queen’s bed and knelt down in order to meet her eyes on the same height.

“Your Grace, I am-“

 “I know who you are, Lord Stark,” the Queen muttered, her face contorting in pain, “They say of that you are an honorable man. Are you truly, My Lord?”

“I try to be, Your Grace,” Ned responded honestly, taking her small hand into his.

“I believe you are, My Lord. If you were not, you would have been far less hesitant and more flamboyant in your answer,” her focus shifted slowly to the girl in the Maester’s arms, “Please, My Lord, let her live. She is innocent of all that happened, innocent of all but having mine and Aerys’ blood. I beg you, don’t let them do to her what they did to sweet Rhaenys and little Aegon. Please! I beg you. Promise me, Lord Stark.” Her frail hands squeezed his lightly.

_“Promise me, Ned_ ”

“I promise,” he whispered and the haunted look in her indigo eyes calmed. The grip of her hands got even weaker and with a flutter her eyes closed.

“Thank you…” Rhaella muttered her final words. _She died without ever holding her newborn child_. Ned felt tired and sad at once. He stood up slowly and turned to the old Maester still holding the little girl in his arms, the little girl who had not stopped crying since entering this world. Eddard gestured the Maester to give him the infant and the hesitation only lasted for a moment.

It was a curious thing. The instant he held the little babe the crying stopped and her lids opened to show her amethyst orbs for the first time. She looked curiously at him, a soft patch of silver-blonde hair gracing her lovely head.

“Where is Prince Viserys?” Ned asked, not withdrawing his eyes from the babe that started to touch his thumb with her little fingers.

“He has escaped,” Maester Qwin retorted, “Ser Willem Darry and he took a boat to the Free Cities. He didn’t say which one.”

_Wise_ , Eddard thought and nodded to the Maester, “Prepare some goat milk for the babe. She will be hungry soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hope you liked it. At this point I want to ask again if someone would be willing to be a beta reader for this story. I'd very much appreciate it. :) Also, I don't think it was never mentioned who had been Master of Coin before Baelish or Master of Law before Renly I think, so yeah... If I should be wrong and somebody knows it, please feel free to inform me. :) Regarding Stannis being named Lord of Storm's End: I am aware that in canon that had not been the case, however someone in the comments (I think the name of the user was Ojha, thank you very much by the way :)) pointed out that if Stannis wasn't "responsible" for Dany's and Viserys' escape, he wouldn't have taken Storm's End away from him. I agree with that.


	2. Ours is the Fury (Eddard II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned travels to King's Landing to justify his decision to spare Daenerys' life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I wanted to thank everyone who left Kudos or a comment. :) It motivated me a lot to write.
> 
> About the chapter... I originally did not intend to write two chapters of the same character in a row, but it felt like I had to, so I did. There is little I like less when I read something and it feels too rushed... Hopefully I succeeded in not making the readers feel that way. :-/  
> About future chapters: I want to write quite extensively about the childhood of the young Starks and Dany. Other POVs from non-Starks will be written too though. I also wanted to ask if someone was interested to beta the story and discuss future chapters. It would be much appreciated. :)
> 
> Have fun!

It was the most astonishing of things; moments like this that made him wonder whether the gods do interfere or not. Most times they made him doubt, on others like this though he was inclined to be more pious. The last drop of rain had landed on the forehead of the little girl in his arms, who frowned irritated for a heartbeat but became her quiet self again shortly after. The storm had subsided almost Ned entered the yard with the little girl in his arms and the sun shone through the heavy pillow of the clouds. It took from the early afternoon to the brink of dusk for the first of the other ships to arrive at the island. Stannis Baratheon’s had been amongst them. Ned was to meet him at the Chamber of the Painted Table where almost three hundred years ago Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys had started the plot for their conquest of the Seven Kingdoms and to unite them under their rule. The wooden table shaped like Westeros was an impressive sight indeed, a marvel of true craftsmanship. Softly one hand touched the part that was meant to represent the North.

“ _Winterfell is yours,_ ” his little brother had muttered and handed him their House’s ancestral sword. He hadn’t felt any pleasure, no pride to be named the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North and at grasping the hilt of _Ice_. It felt like thievery, something that was supposed to be Brandon’s and not his. _It was never meant to be this way. I was never prepared for this, never prepared to take this role. I am like an infant trying to walk, but don’t know how._ He sighed and set his eyes on the spot where Winterfell was supposed to be. The echoing of steps though refocused his sight to the entrance where Robert’s younger brother entered. Little has changed since the siege on Storm’s End had been ended. The effects of it were still visible on him, though only in appearance and not in demeanor. The contrast between him and Robert couldn’t be avoided to be noticed. Where Robert was all smiles and full of laughs, his brother seemed to be the opposite. His lips were drawn into a thin line and though the eye color was the same, it lacked any of the mirth so present in the King’s. In general he seemed to be far less at ease than his brother was.

“Lord Stark,” Stannis addressed him and stepped closer to the Westeros-shaped table, “I have been informed that Viserys has escaped.”

“Aye, that he did,” Eddard nodded, “Ser Willem Darry got hold of him shortly before I arrived and they went to Essos.”

“And Queen Rhaella died after giving birth. What about the girl?

Eddard needn’t ask what was meant with ‘ _the girl_ ’. It was of little doubt that this could strain Robert’s and Ned’s friendship, but he couldn’t slump so low as to kill an infant girl like Lord Tywin had. He wouldn’t be a butcher, even if his King wanted him to be one.

“Daenerys is alive and well,” Eddard replied soberly, “And she will stay that way.”

Stannis forehead morphed in to a deep frown and the grinding of his teeth was hard to be overheard. _Do you disapprove?_

“Robert ordered us to take care of the Targaryens. Do you refuse to execute your king’s command?”

“His Grace asked me to besiege the Island and to take the castle, which was done. He did not tell me to be an executioner,” Ned protested, _albeit it was implied_. It was hard to say whether Stannis was in agreement with him or not, although it didn’t matter either way. Ned had made his decision the moment the promise he made had crossed his lips.

 _Promise me_.

“So what do you mean to do with her?” Stannis inquired and crossed his arms over his plated chest, “Keep her here until nature does the work for you or take her with you and watch until she’s a woman grown? Will you wait like a butcher for a piglet to grow into a sow only to slaughter her then?”

 _Does he think me a monster?_ Eddard thought in shock.

“As long as I live she will not enter the capital,” Ned declared, his voice hard like steel, “She shall be taken to Winterfell. She won’t be a danger to anyone there.”

Stannis didn’t show much of a reaction to his declaration except the repeated grinding of his teeth, his deep blue eyes linked to Eddard’s steely grey, “We shall see.”

 

Those who had fallen in the seizing of the castle or died during the storm were held a funeral for, the former Queen amongst them. In fact, more had died from the storm’s doings than through the siege. A man had been crushed by a falling tree; another had broken his neck from falling off the castle wall. Many gave their lives while fishing and even mor for being on the ships in their attempt to defend the island and the Queen. Many of the bodies who died on sea got washed at the shore, but still far less than the number of those who had actually died. A few words were spoken by the local Septon, who seemed clearly insecure of how to address Rhaella. Stannis who had stood next to him in the small ceremony, had grinded his teeth at that. Maybe it was Eddard’s imagination, a trick of his mind due to the exhaustion the past few days, but her pyre shone brighter and higher than the others would have combined. Ned had watched thoughtfully how Rhaella’s lifeless body covered by a black shroud embroidered with the sigil of House Targaryen, a red three-headed dragon, was consumed by the flames.

After the funeral, preparations about the return to King’s Landing were discussed. On the morrow they would set sails and a small garrison of fifty men would stay on the island. It was only after the plans had been finalized that he had sought out Rodrik Cassel in his temporary chamber. He sat on his bed where he maintained his weapon carefully. After Eddard had been noticed by Rodrik he had moved to stand up, but Ned motioned for him to sit.

“No need to stand up Rodrik. I have a task for you to fulfill, which I can’t take care of myself for now,” Ned stated calmly.

“My Lord?” he asked confused, laying the sword he tended to at his side.

“I want you to take the child to White Harbor. Howland Reed and my son will hopefully be there as well. You’ll remain in the city until I join up with you or a notice from me with further instructions arrives,” Eddard explained, “That includes any unforeseen events.”

Rodrik nodded obediently, “’Course my Lord. No harm will befall the child.”

“Good. Stay vigilant, I doubt that many in the south are going to be happy with my decision. You’ll be given the ship we arrived with. I’ll go with Stannis on his to take course to King’s Landing. The King needs to be made aware of the situation in person.”

“My Lord,” Rodrik said, but hesitated.

“What is it?”

“Should we send ravens to your banner men? In case things go awry,” he suggested. _He is a good man. Too many good men have died already_ , Eddard thought solemnly and shook his head.

“I won’t escalate the situation preemptively,” Ned answered, “But guard their nursery twice as careful. I would not put it passed the Lannisters to buy a cutthroat of some sorts or some other honorless means to get rid of her.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” Rodrik retorted and bowed his head lightly.

After wishing him a good night’s rest, Ned left for the nursery to see how Daenerys fared. The hour of the wolf drew close and he felt tired by the day’s events. He wanted to be in Winterfell and tend to the wounds that had cut deeper than the sharpest Valyrian ever could. He longed to see both Jon and his trueborn son who his wife had said to have her deep blue eyes. _I want to be home_. Two guardsmen were posted to either side leading to the nursery, both of his own soldiers. Ned did not trust anyone else enough to do this task. After light bows by his men Ned had entered the chamber. The room was still lightened by a few candles and in the midst of it Eddard saw a woman holding the little Targaryen to her breast, feeding her and whispering softly something unintelligible. She raised her head and met his line of sight with her own. Her eyes widened in shock and stood up abruptly from her seat, making little Daenerys grumble in disapproval.

“M’lord,” she welcomed him sheepishly and tried to shield her uncovered breast from his eyes. She was a beautiful girl of perhaps five-and-ten years of age. Her hair bound to a knot was light brown and her eyes the color of hazel. Her nose was pointed and long, but offered her face a unique kind of beauty. Ned turned to the side, offering some privacy, while his cheeks blushed lightly.

“I beg your pardon my Lady,” Ned apologized, “I wasn’t aware that Lady Daenerys was provided with a wet nurse. Has the maester sent for you?”

“Aye, m’lord,” the girl answered and nodded lightly.

 _The maester did not tell me about this_ , Eddard thought displeased and turned back again to face the young wet nurse and the babe in her arms.

“What is your name?” Ned asked and reached his arms out for her to hand over the little girl, what she immediately complied to.

“Name is Emma, m’lord,” she introduced herself and made a clumsy attempt of a curtsy, “Her Grace took me in for the babe. Gave birth meself a fortnight ago, so I can feed me boy and the babe.”

“I see. We will leave at dawn and the girl will be on her way to White Harbor then,” Ned informed her. The girl looked crestfallen at the news, for obvious reasons. _She’d hoped to gain the household’s favor and to offer her services here_ , he mused and felt pity for the girl.

“Where is your husband?” Eddard asked and the girl became even sadder than before.

“There is no husband no more, m’lord,” Emma informed him quietly, “Died in the big storm. Came out of nowhere and destroyed most of the fleet at the harbor. Me husband was a fishermen and was out there when it happened. No way had he survived, when he hasn’t come back already.”

Eddard sighed lightly, “The babe will need to be fed on her way to White Harbor as well and a mother’s milk is best for a girl of her age. I could arrange for you a position in my household or for the Manderly’s if you preferred.”

The young wet nurse beamed at him, seemingly not expecting his offer.

“You’re too kind, m’lord,” she said delightedly, “I’d be honored.”

“Very well then, gather your belongings and be ready,” Ned instructed and smiled at her, “We are going to set sails at dawn. I’ll lay Daenerys to bed, so you’re free to go.”

“Thank you, m’lord, thank you so much. May the Seven bless you tenfold,” Emma replied happily and attempted another unpracticed curtsy. Hurriedly and in delight she left the chambers. Ned looked after her for a heartbeat, before watching the little girl he held in his arms. Purple eyes looked curiously up to him, while she cooed lightly.

Her eyes reminded him so much of another he had met, what felt like a lifetime had passed, yet they had crossed paths merely a year ago. He saw her vividly in his mind’s eyes, like on the Tourney of Harrenhal where he had gazed at her for the first time, sitting beside Princess Elia and holding back her head in laughter about something he had not heard from afar. Her curls which had seemed to flow endlessly down her back were black like raven feathers and Ned was sure had not seen a woman more beautiful than her before. Then their eyes had met and Ned had broken the connection instantly, blushing furiously in embarrassment.

“ _Honor is a cold companion, Lord Ned,_ ” she had teased him later, the corner of her lips slightly curved upwards, “ _It’s a woman’s touch, a woman’s kiss that keeps a man warm. I’ve always assumed you Northerners are appreciative of warmth._ ” Her eyes, her lips, her pose, all radiated her mischievous nature and her unparalleled beauty. Ned’s heart clenched at the memory, guilt tearing at its strings. _One day’s delight was followed by one when all smiles died_.

Ned rubbed tenderly the babe’s cheek with his thumb. Daenerys had fallen asleep again and he laid her carefully back into her cradle.

“Good night Daenerys,” he whispered and prepared for his own night’s rest.

 

The passage to King’s Landing went as smoothly as one could wish for, a stark contrast to the circumstances just two days ago. Light and cool breezes offered a welcome sensation, contrary to the hot spring day. They’d arrive in the capital in the late afternoon Stannis had assured.

“The winds are in our favor,” Stannis had said, “If it doesn’t turn, we should be there before sunset.”

Ned was not looking forward to this. The exchange would be unpleasant, Robert’s rage be backed by bootlickers and opportunists alike. Matters would become even more difficult if Tywin Lannister, whose daughter was to marry the newly crowned king, was present. Ned’s mood darkened considerably at the thought, having to face the Warden of the West. _He joins the cause in the last minute and commits the worst of crimes, yet he reaps the fruits of this war the most_ , Ned judged, trying to quench the rising fury in his chest, _his son’s still Kingsguard and his daughter is to be Robert’s queen._

_Little arms and hands sticking out of scarlet shrouds…_

Ned closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grasping at the railing to his front. He’d stay no longer than he needed to in the pile of shit they called the capital. The stench of which reached his nose sooner, than the sight his eyes. They were even faster than anticipated which Ned was most thankful for. _Rather be done with this sooner than later_ , he thought solemnly. Stannis and he were not welcomed by the King himself, but by half a dozen of Goldcloaks. At the head of the group was a stout man with beginnings of baldness apparent on his head.

“Lord Stannis, Lord Stark,” he welcomed them with a low bow, “Janos Slynt. I was named Commander of the City Watch by Lord Arryn. I am to escort you to the King and the Small Council.”

Ned watched Stannis grind his teeth, but otherwise kept silent. The commander did not look the sort who was able to handle problems on the street, but looks could deceive. A lesson he had learnt in the war on plenty of occasions.

“Aye, lead the way then,” Ned answered and nodded, not in the mood for pleasantries. Slynt bowed again and turned to walk through the city’s entrance. The effect of the sacking could not be overseen. Many buildings were damaged and only a few people attended the streets. Those who did kept their eyes to the ground all times. _Hard to imagine that half a million people live here_ , Eddard mused. Apart from the lack of activity he could not ignore the reek; it did get better though the closer they walked to Aegon’s Hill and the Red Keep.

After entering the throne room, changes to it had already begun. No longer were the walls graced by the mighty dragon heads, but by the colors of House Baratheon and its crowned stag. One of the enormous pillars was worked on by a number of craftsmen and was not even close to getting finished. The Iron Throne in all its ugly glory had remained the same. Arriving at the chambers of the Small Council a group of people were sitting around a wooden table. At its head satt the enraged King Robert wearing his newly forged golden crown which resembled overlapping antlers of a stag, to his left sat his concerned looking Hand John Arryn. To the King’s right was Lord Tywin seated, watching Eddard with a hard stare and next to him his younger brother Ser Kevan. The Master of Whispers Lord Varys was present as well and had taken a seat beside Jon Arryn.

“Sit,” Robert commanded and motioned to chair on the opposite side of the table, directly facing the King himself. Eddard did as he was told and Lord Stannis sat down next to Ser Kevan.

“Your Grace,” Ned greeted, “my Lords.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” Robert said in hardly contained fury, his clenched hand almost seemed like it was shaking.

“As you wish, your Grace.”

 “The boy escaped,” Robert stated, his eyes throwing daggers at Ned, “And instead of taking care of the newborn girl, not only do you let her live, but took her elsewhere.”

Surprised Ned looked at the Spider, who only smiled. _He must have eyes and ears everywhere_. He had only told three people, all of whom he doubted would have revealed his plans, even Stannis. _It must have been someone from the garrison we left behind_.

“Yes, she’s on her way to the North,” Eddard admitted and a mixture of anger and surprise showed in Robert’s blue eyes. All looked at each other seemingly just as surprised as the king, except Lord Tywin who still watched Ned intensely.

“Are you bloody mad?!” Robert fumed and rose from his seat, “She is the daughter of the Mad King! Another inbred dragon spawn!”

“She is but a child, innocent of any of Rhaegar’s and Aerys’ doings,” retorted Eddard calmly, though he did not feel like it at all.

“The child is a danger to King Robert’s regency or will be in time. Letting her live is foolish,” Tywin’s steady voice proclaimed, “You must deal with her the way you already should have.”

Ned entire demeanor turned to ice, his lips formed into a hard line and his steely grey eyes locked with Tywin’s emerald ones. _This man is ruthless to his core, his heart is icier than the North was in the Long Night_ , Ned judged and any attempt to keep the memory from his mind failed once more.

_Little arms and hands sticking out of scarlet shrouds…_

_Promise me_

“I am well aware of what you would have done, Lord Lannister. Every child in the realm is,” Eddard stated coldly, the edges to his words impossible to overhear. A heavy almost deadly silence washed over the room. All men looked shocked at the Lord of Winterfell, all but Tywin whose nostrils flared and a short flicker of controlled anger lightened in his eyes, the golden spots now more noticeable in the otherwise predominantly emerald orbs.

“Eddard,” he heard Jon Arryn say with discontent, but right now Eddard did not care.  

“You may conflate your shortsightedness with honor, Lord Stark,” Lord Tywin answered apparently calm, speaking like he was addressing a disobedient child, “What is one act of brutality compared to years of blood and war. By letting her live you doom us all to such a fate.”

“She is only a babe, unable to even crawl,” he retorted, furious at the lack of contempt for Tywin’s words, “Are we so afraid of a little girl still on a woman’s teat?” Eddard looked at everyone, but none seemed to share his views. Stannis at best seemed neutral. A cold thought crossed his mind, a way to persuade the council or at least the king.

“She is in our custody and could actually be of use, if Viserys was ever to attempt an invasion.” The spoken words tasted foul in his mouth, but he felt he had to offer a silver lining to the King.

“A captive,” the Master of Whispers spoke in his high pitched voice, while rubbing his chin in thought, a peaked interest in his eyes now fully drawn to Eddard Stark.

“You made this decision without your King’s consent! What in the seven hells has driven you to betray your duty to me and the memory of your family?!” Robert roared, while his fist landed on the table leading to his and Jon Arryn’s wine filled cups to fall to their sides. _Ours is the Fury. Never have these words been truer than right now_ , Eddard mused, but thoughts about another day he saw Robert’s fury unleashed came to mind. That day on the Trident, when Robert and Rhaegar met each other on the battlefield and the crown prince had died.

“You ask me what kept me from committing infanticide,” Ned responded, rising slowly from his seat, making the two members of the Kingsguard a step forward and moving their hands to the hilt of their sword, “Despite common decency you mean? My honor and my sense of justice, me being head of House Stark, but most of all a promise made to a woman’s last dying wish.”

With a thumping noise Robert fell back to his seat and a deep sigh crossing the King’s lips, the look of infuriation was still quite visible, but he had calmed considerably.

“You should have slit the woman’s throat instead of giving promises that weren’t yours to give,” Robert grumbled and took his cup for the cupbearer to refill, “What are you going to do when she presses hers or her brother’s claim? What then, LORD Stark.”

All men’s eyes were focused on him in varying degrees of emotion. Lord Arryn looked uncertain, the Spider was hard to read, but seemed to be intrigued; Lord Tywin’s were filled with hidden anger, while Kevan looked coldly at him as well. Stannis showed something similar of respect.

“IF she presses the Targaryen claim and incites willfully a rebellion against your reign,” Ned answered slowly, the King’s eyes meeting his while he spoke, “I will pass the sentence myself and it shall be me who swings the sword.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! It's alot of fun to write, unfortunately though I can't say when I'll publish the next chapter. The coming month will be pretty busy, but maybe I'll be able to publish on or two shorter ones.


	3. Hour of the Lions (Jaime I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime relives Cersei's and Robert's wedding and discusses recent events with his father and uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sigh* I want to apologize to those how read this fic majorly for some Jon/Dany interaction and that it takes so long for that to happen, hell, Jon hasn't even been mentioned very often so far. Hopefully though you bare with me just a bit longer. Last week I had felt the urge to write a chapter from another character's view before writing from Ned's POV again. You may see this chapter as some sort of interlude. ^^ The following chapter will be Ned again and the fifth from Viserys POV. Unfortunately I cannot give an ETA for the next ones, but I actually published this one sooner than I had anticipated, so it could be before February (although I will not promise that). Also I want to apologize for my incredibly boring sounding summaries... I hope the story at least makes up for it. ^^ Also, I want to thank everyone who left a comment or Kuddos! Thank you very much. :)

The marriage had been a grand affair. Everyone of name in the entire realm had attended it, all but the Martells and any of their vassals who had remained demonstratively absent. The bells from the Sept of Baelor rang what felt like for seven days straight in preparation and the longer it took his annoyance had increased. Jaime’s mood was dire as it was, the constant reminder though made him want to cut off the bell ringers’ hands and arms. On the day of the ceremony there was not a single cloud in the sky to see, which felt like a mockery from the gods.

Cersei had been radiant though, her smile outshining the sun itself and Jaime had to restrain himself from rushing towards the altar, grab his sister and ravish her for everyone to see. _The gods are cruel to make me desire her so much_ , Jaime thought bitterly, while the wedding had proceeded on. The wedding feast had been splendid too with multiple courses varying from dishes common to the different regions of the Seven Kingdoms. Jaime had lacked the necessary appetite to appreciate the splendid offerings. On the high table the most important were seated. In the middle both the King and the Queen, to the left of his sister, father had sat, stern but unusually pleased. _So you got your daughter to be Queen after all_ , Jaime had thought unhappily. Next to Robert had sat the Lord of the Vale and one place further had been Lord Eddard Stark, closer to the King than his own two brothers, whose face had looked as stony as the moment he had confronted Jaime after he had sank his sword through the Mad King’s back. The look had been full of contempt and was only a taste of what was to come. _Kingslayer_ they called him now, behind his back of course, but whispers were not kept quiet for long at the Red Keep.   

“ _A Lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinion of the sheep_ ,” father had told him sternly. “ _Let them mutter their insolence. You are a Lannister and a Lannister does what must be done._ ”

His father’s words had comforted him, though he suspected the reasons for his praise were quite different as to why he had actually taken down the man he had sworn to protect. _If they knew what Aerys had asked of me, what he asked the pyromancers to do, who’d not have broken that oath? Ser Arthur, would you have stayed true?_ He will not condemn his own deeds against a man who was willing to let his entire people be burned alive, only for him to die in it after all. _Let them scold me_ , Jaime had thought resentfully. _I shall not give them the satisfaction of caring_.

The bedding ceremony did not occur as late as he had hoped it would. The countless men who had attended did not even try to hide their lustful leers at a woman who was only a fraction of their age. Not that her newlywed husband had cared, so deep in his cups at this point that Jaime had trouble to believe he was able to perform his marital duties. _Some consolation at least_ , he reflected. Jaime had not been fast enough to keep the men obsessively tearing at her gown, while making crude comments. Cersei had taken it all with dignity of course; Jaime wouldn’t have expected it any other way. Before any of the leeches could have gotten a grab of her flawless bare skin though, Jaime had pushed them aside and the closest to her got not too lightly hit with his elbow to the chest. He hadn’t even bothered to look who he had crossed; it had not mattered though when he carried his sister’s naked body, bare of any clothes, in his arms. Her cheeks had been reddened by a cup of wine or two, a smile so full of promises and the softest touch with her fingertips on his cheek. His loins had stirred at that making it close to unbearable not to act upon.

“ _Your grace,_ ” Jaime had teased with a crooked smile.

“ _Not yet, Ser,_ ” his golden-haired sister had retorted enticingly. It had taken all his willpower not to throw open the closest chamber door and to consummate the marriage in Robert’s stead. Jaime had carried her to the King’s bed though, a walk that had ended sooner than he had hoped. She had kissed him on his cheek when he had laid her on the mattress. Barely a heartbeat later the King had followed in his drunken state, his cheeks and nose the deepest red. “ _You can go now Kingslayer,_ ” Robert had slurred. “ _I must fulfill my duty as a husband!_ ” Jaime had bowed his head lightly and had abstained himself to grind his teeth together, keeping his now false smile on his face.

“ _Your Grace,_ ” Jaime had bidden good bye and left the chamber, closing the door on his way out. It was the first time someone had called him that to his face. It had stung more than Jaime cared to admit and had clenched his hands to fists in anger for breaking another promise. _Is he sheep as well, father?_ He hadn’t stayed to listen to the men’s lewd remarks. The thought alone of what was happening within was haunting enough.

 

“Ser Jaime,” he heard a voice call out to him, tearing him from his musings of the day before. Jaime turned around and came to see a man of small height, but broad shoulders enhanced by the signature Lannister armor. His hair was the lightest brown, at the brink of being blonde and was starting to decline at the corners’ of his forehead. The man’s eyes were wide apart and brown as well.

“Yes?” Jaime inquired and arched a brow.

“Your Lord father, ser,” he had responded. “He wishes to speak with you in his chamber.”

Jaime nodded, “Tell my father I shall be there in an instant.”

The walk from the White Sword Tower to his father’s chamber was not a long one. A troop of Lannister soldiers paroled the corridors that housed the Lannister entourage and a few barley grown noble women who giggled in excitement when he passed. After arriving at his doorstep he knocked shortly and almost instantly was invited in by his father’s voice. The room was reasonably big and at its center was a table positioned for six people to sit at. His father sat at high-end of it, with his uncle Kevan to his left.

“Sit,” Lord Tywin commanded and Jaime took a seat next to him. The day was just as beautiful as it had been the day before. Spring was at its finest now and Jaime did not doubt that the coming of summer would be proclaimed soon.

“Father, uncle,” Jaime greeted them, while he filled his cup with the flask of wine. “What is it you wish to speak of?”

“Several matters,” Tywin retorted. “Robert allowed more of our demands than we’d anticipated and less than we would have hoped for.”

“What was the King not complying with?” Jaime asked curiously, furrowing his forehead.

“You will remain in the Kingsguard,” his father said, clearly dissatisfied about that. “For now.”

_Good_ , Jaime thought, but held his tongue. _Father wouldn’t be too appreciative about that_.

“I see,” Jaime responded instead. “What else is there to be discussed?”

“The Small Council won’t entail anyone from the Westerlands for now,” Kevan informed his nephew, who nodded quietly. “Ser Barristan will be named Lord Commander after his wounds from the Trident have fully healed. Stannis has been named both Lord of Storm’s End and Master of Ships. Varys will remain in his position as Master of Whispers; his network of spies and capabilities of gathering information was too tempting for King Robert to dismiss. Lord Penrose was named Master of Laws, but he is merely a placeholder until Renly comes of age. Ser Harbert Baratheon will be Master of Coin.” Jaime knew little of them, only that Penrose’s son was a capable commander in the rebellion, therefore his father was probably named as a favor due to his devotion in the war, and that Ser Harbert was the King’s great-uncle.

“Eddard Stark had broken through the storm and had arrived Dragonstone. He’d obtained Rhaella and her newborn girl, but the boy has fled over the Narrow Sea,” Keven said worriedly. _Rhaella had been with child?_ Jaime considered, followed by a chilling though. _Did she conceive the day he’d burnt Rickard Stark and his son?_ Jaime mused and shuddered at the memory.

“Rhaella died after giving birth, Stark kept the girl alive and took her to the North,” Jaime’s eyes widened in surprise. It was the first thing he had heard about this. It was no secret that Lord Stark had arrived Dragonstone unharmed, but no information had come through what exactly had happened at the siege. _Lord Stark, I have to admit, I wouldn’t have thought you so bold_.

“What did Robert say about this?”

“He was furious as he should have been,” Tywin answered, rose from his seat and walked over to the window, folding his arms behind his back. “But I underestimated his devotion to that Northern fool. Both got fostered on the Eyrie by Jon Arryn and fought a war together, so it is no surprise that they were close, however, I expected his hatred for the Targaryens to be strong enough that he would demand that actions are to be taken against Aerys’ daughter. Robert was all barks, but no bite. The girl is a threat that needs to be dealt with.”

“The girl cannot be big enough to reach our knees, what threat is she ought to be for us or anyone?” Jaime had been shocked at the brutality of Elia’s and her children’s deaths, but knew that there was no shred of decency in the Mountain’s body. One had to be in his company only for a heartbeat to realize that.

“Don’t act a fool. It isn’t her current state that is a reason to contemplate, but what will be when she is a woman grown,” Tywin answered harshly, eying him with disapproval. “Her existence alone is a constant threat to Robert’s and your sister’s future children. She’s like wildfire that waits to be ignited. That must not happen at any cost.”

“So what is to be done father? You do not mean to send troops against the Starks?” Jaime asked, but did not believe his father would let that happen.

“No,” Tywin responded, “That would be stupid. No army from the South has ever crossed the Neck unharmed. If we had Robert’s backing in this, it could have been an option, but as it stands Lord Stark has appeased him for now and he has ties to the Riverlands and the Vale. They wouldn’t stand for it. When we act, it must be subtle, in a manner that it cannot be linked to us.”

Jaime couldn’t help but notice that his father said _when_ and not _if_. The realm may be at peace now, but it was uncertain peace. All it took was a push for everything to crumble. There was more to it than that though; the manner in which his father spoke Eddard Stark’s name showed that something had happened between the two. _If that is the case, poor Lord Stark bites off more than he can chew_ , Jaime judged. Any man who had angered his father has paid the price. _A Lannister always pays his debt_.

“We are going to act accordingly to the situation, not too soon and not too late,” stated Lord Tywin.

“The Martells are another matter. Their absence from the wedding couldn’t be overseen and there are rumors that Prince Oberyn is trying to rally support for Viserys Targaryen,” Kevan explained, while rubbing his chin. “Sooner or later the King must send someone to appease them. The deaths of Elia and Ser Lewyn have made matters with them difficult.”

“Elia’s death and rape were unnecessary nuisances; it will make the Martells a constant reliability to us, just because the Mountain couldn’t withhold his urges,” his father explained displeased, “I assume either Jon Arryn or Robert will ride to Sunspear to broker a deal, if they want to keep the peace.”

“What will be done with the Mountain and Lorch?” Jaime asked, watching his father carefully.

“Nothing, he obeyed my orders. Amory Lorch and he are beastly tools to be used, that need to be held on leashes and in the future more precise instructions have to be given. Putting him on trial would be a waste of resources. He is still of use to us,” Tywin responded sternly. “Despite all that, our position rarely has been as strong as this. The future King is going to have Lannister blood running through his veins and your sister will do her duty in reminding her offspring that they’re Lions.” A ghost of a smile started to form on his father’s lips and a feeling of unease settled in his stomach. “The hour of the Lion has begun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hope you liked it. At this point I want to ask again if someone would be willing to be a beta reader for this story. I'd very much appreciate it. :) Also, I don't think it was never mentioned who had been Master of Coin before Baelish or Master of Law before Renly I think, so yeah... If I should be wrong and somebody knows it, please feel free to inform me. :) Regarding Stannis being named Lord of Storm's End: I am aware that in canon that had not been the case, however someone in the comments (I think the name of the user was Ojha, thank you very much by the way :)) pointed out that if Stannis wasn't "responsible" for Dany's and Viserys' escape, he wouldn't have taken Storm's End away from him. I agree with that.  
> I also want to thank everyone for their comments or Kudos, they really keep me motivated! :)


	4. Home (Eddard III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what felt like an eternity of war and clashing of steel, Ned finally comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to everyone who has waited patiently (or not so patiently) for an update. The Reasons why it took me so long are various and probably not that interesting to read. Instead I want to thank everyone who left a comment or Kudos. They mean a lot and are really motivating, even if the lack of updates in the past months is not the clearest indication of that. This chapter was particularly hard to write. There isn’t much action in it and tells Eddard’s journey from White Harbor to Winterfell with everything in between. I am not sure if I describe the travelling time correctly, but I tried to give it certain amount of realism (well, I claim it is more accurate than Littlefinger’s Skyrim-ish fast-travelling skills in the TV show :D). I won’t make the mistake to give another ETA, but what I can reveal is that the next chapter will be from Viserys POV. It will probably be shorter than this chapter though. After that I will make a significant time jump and give you some Stark kids + Dany interactions. I am really looking forward writing those scenes and dialogues!
> 
> Last, but certainly not least I want to thank TomSevenstrings (who is a great writer himself, I really recommend you to read his story A Bane of Blood!), who beta read this story and also discussed a couple of ideas with me. The help is very much appreciated! :)
> 
> Whom I want to thank as well is lit_chicko8 for the fic “The Evening Star” which inspired my imagination of Ashara Dayne! One of the greatest A Song of Ice and Fire fics I’ve read. Please, give it a try! I doubt anyone will regret it. 

Home (Eddard III)

The journey home was a quiet one and he was more than thankful for it. Come the morn of the wedding ceremony, Eddard had made sail in the first light of dawn. Not soon enough, Eddard thought tiredly. No matter how much he slept, restfulness didn’t come and he doubted it ever would until he reached Winterfell. He would have preferred to leave the night of the Small Council meeting, but instead he had swallowed his wishes and stayed for the wedding. Robert had begrudgingly allowed for him to keep the Targaryen girl in Winterfell, Lord Lannister however did not seem as content with that decision. Eddard wouldn’t put it past them to follow a more insidious path, one to get rid of what they declared a threat. With all the power at his disposal, he would not allow it. Not in the North, he would swear beneath the very Heart tree!

Though the following day, after their confrontation, Robert had been as boisterous as Ned knew him to be. The man he was. All laughs and jests, and it was not hard to see why men and women alike loved Robert Baratheon. The King was already deep in his cups mere ours before his wedding, but it invoked fond memories of their time at the Eyrie and he saw more of the man he had grown up with. Robert could be crude, he could be loud and often spoke before giving his words thought, but he did so out of his heart, for better and for worse. It was a trait he had always liked about him, though it also was a fountain of frustration.

“ _She is a lovely one my bride-to-be, isn’t she_ ,” Robert had said with a slight slur to his voice, “ _haven’t seen many as beautiful as her_.”

“ _Of course, Your Grace_ ,” Ned had answered, sitting across from Robert at his chamber’s dining table.

“ _Stop that formal nonsense_ ,” Robert went on to complain boisterously. “ _We’re not in front of the court or the bloody council, so you’ll address me like you’ve always done. That’s a royal command_.”

Ned, despite himself, had smiled at that. For a moment he had forgotten their follies on the matter of Daenerys Targaryen, of Lord Lannister. He had forgotten King Robert and instead he saw the man Robert was, the one he knew, all much more. But some old wounds never healed, and were opened again at the slightest word.

“ _It should have been her, Ned_ ,” Robert declared and looked into the candlelight, He was lost, more than Ned remembered ever seeing him. “ _I should have wrapped my cloak around her shoulders, the Stag and Wolf. Not that bloody lion’s. May the Others take her._ ”

It was a curious switch; the view on Robert’s betrothed a heartbeat ago full of praise for her beauty, only to be scorned a moment later for being a Lannister. Yet you allowed them to receive honors for an act of unparalleled cruelty, Eddard judged harshly, but kept his thought to himself. It was hard for him to forget the coldness in Robert’s eyes when presented with the covered bodies of Rhaegar’s two children, so unlike the men he had known eleven years prior.

Arms and hands sticking out of scarlet shrouds…

He hated to see it constantly, the memory of it, doubtful if there will ever pass a day he would not think of that fateful moment. It had been branded in his mind for the remainder of his life. As were the two promises he gave.

Promise me.

He flexed his hands lightly and let the cold gusts calm his mind. The air grew colder the further north they got and his heart ached to feel northern soil under his feet. He had liked the Eyrie, loved it even, but there was a bond between his homeland and himself stronger than what could be put into words. Mayhaps the Valyrian had a word for it, Eddard mused and felt reminded of something his father once had said.

“ _Aye, there is wolf’s blood running through your brother’s and sister’s veins, but it’s the North that runs through yours._ ”

He hadn’t understood back then, mere days away of becoming a ward to Jon Arryn and surprised by his father’s rare display of affection. Almost twelve years later, a war and the loss of almost the entirety of his family made his father’s words quite clear to him. He was a Northerner, even despite his long absence, and nothing could change that. He would never try to. He loved his home.

After the first sight of White Harbor his lips turned into a smile and a flush of relief lifted much of the burdens of the past months. Though spring has arrived most notably in the South, the North quite stubbornly held on to the bleak winds, holding on to winter as much as it could. Ned was grateful for it.

His party was welcomed by Lord Wyman Manderly, his two sons Wylis and Wendel. Beside Lord Wylis stood his wife, Lady Leona, with her young daughter at her side who grasped her mother’s skirt while looking equally shy and curious up to Ned. Signs of another child growing were clear. A soft smile formed on Ned’s lips. A little further to their sides he saw both Howland Reed and Rodrik Cassel. Behind them stood Lord Wyman’s own vassals amongst them Lord Waterman and his wife, next to him stood the greying Lord of House Locke, followed by Lord and Lady Tarkin. Jon Carver and his much younger wife were the last Eddard could see.

“Lord Stark,” Lord Wyman said and went down on one knee, an act that obviously took more effort for the man than it would for a less corpulent one, though he did it with dignity. The other men followed the example of Lord Wyman, while the present women curtsied. “White Harbor is yours.”

“Please arise,” Ned said and shook the Lord’s hand after he had stood up again, a light sheen of sweat noticeable near his brows. For a moment he looked at Lord Manderly’s daughter-in-law, the smile still visible. “I see congratulations are in order.”

Both Lord Wyman and the father-to-be gleamed proudly after his words, while the pregnant woman blushed lightly. Lady Leona laid a hand softly on her growing belly. It was a difficult thing to comprehend, after months seeing people close to him perish in agony and pools of their own blood, to see a new life growing. Yes, both Jon and Dany were babes as well, but he had not seen them grow in their mother’s womb. The sight of dying men had become such regularity that it almost lost its shocking effect; something that had troubled him in the passing months, to grow so numb to the suffering around him.

Scarlet shrouds...

“My Lord,” Wyman Manderly proclaimed. “In honor of your return to the North we will hold a feast.”

Eddard nodded solemnly. Though in truth he wished for nothing more but to move on to the Barrowlands and return Lady Barbrey her late husband’s steed, to finally return to Winterfell. To be home. Willam told him that it had been a gift of his wife. If he was not capable of bringing him back, it had to be the least he could do to honor his passing. “You are too kind Lord Manderly. It is good to be on Northern ground again.”

“It is _good_ to have you back, My Lord,” Lord Wyman chuckled and led the way for Ned. Ned had always considered White Harbor a beautiful place and while the spirit of the North could be seen at every corner, it possessed something unique. He had walked multiple times through the streets of White Harbor, first when travelled to the Eyrie and was just a young boy of eight. He remembered, after reaching the Fishfoot Yard, the day he had seen the enormous mermaid statue for the first time. Back then it had appeared even bigger than it did now. It saddened him that the wonders of the youth grow duller with age. It did not take long until they reached the Castle Stairs near the Wolf’s Den. With some fascination he realized he had never been in there. _Perhaps one day_ , he mused, while taking the steps upwards to New Castle, his eyes studying the craftsmanship of the marbled mermaids he knew lighted the way at night. At the top the pale white walls of New Castle came into focus, the towers blazoned with the merman sigil of House Manderly. Entering the Merman Court he saw how richly decorated it was, both in the colors of the Manderly and Stark, their sigils hanging from at the walls. Almost a dozen tables were placed in order to offer enough space for everyone. Ned and the Manderlys sat on the high table from where it was possible to look over the entire feast. Hardly a heartbeat passed when the servants arrived, bringing dish and drink. Ned missed northern food, heartier than in the South, a taste he has grown accustomed to in his youth. A big roasted boar with turnips as a side dish and an apple in its mouth was the pinnacle of the feast and despite the broader variety of food on Robert’s wedding; Ned could not remember when the last time was he had eaten with such gusto. After most of the guests had finished their meal, the music started and many went forward to dance. The Bear and the Maiden Fair. Loud, joyous laughter filled the hall. But despite the good spirit of the feast, Ned was anxious to see the children. Jon and Daenerys. Many moved joyfully to the music and laughed while doing so, including Rodrik Cassel and Howland Reed. Eddard however did not and chose instead to chatter with Lord Manderly whose portly body probably made dancing a non-desirable option. Only when the sky started to darken the first were beginning to leave the hall and the atmosphere got considerably less fervent.

“Lord Manderly,” Ned started quietly and looked to the man to his right. “Thank you for this magnificent feast in my honor, however I would like to see my son and Lady Daenerys.”

Wyman Manderly looked at him for a moment without saying anything.

_What is crossing your mind_ , My Lord? Eddard thought solemnly. There was more to the Lord of White Harbor than instantly met the eye. Spending most of the feast with Lord Wyman, Ned understood that much intelligence was hidden within the stout, green-eyed man.

“Both are in the nursery with their wet nurses, Lord Stark. We have doubled the guards as was asked for by Ser Cassel,” Lord Wyman informed him, “Ser Cullen! Escort our guest to the nursery. Lord Stark wishes to see the children.”

A young broad-shouldered man approached and bowed respectfully before him. He could not be much older than ten-and-eight namedays, yet he was a man grown and had most like seen his share of battles in the war. No matter the age, lads matured faster with swords or spears in clutched in their hands. Boys became men when death was upon them.

“Ser Cullen will show you your chambers as well, My Lord,” Lord Wyman informed him and rose from his seat, bowing lightly, “I hope you have a good night’s rest, Lord Stark.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I hope you do as well,” Ned retorted kindly. “The horses need to be readied for the morn, if you will. I wish to ride at first light.”

“It will be done, My Lord,” Lord Wyman answered and Ned bid him goodnight, before he got escorted by the young knight. The short walk was done in silence, only the sounds of their boots on the hard stony ground filled the halls they walked through. After a short march they finally reached a room guarded by four men, all of whom looked capable of doing so. Recognizing him, all bowed before him.

“Stand,” Eddard commanded and gestured for them to rise. “I hope there were no unwelcomed incidents?”

The guard first to the right of the door nodded and answered, “No one but the wet nurses, Ser Cassel and Lord Reed have entered the room, as was ordered by His Lordship.”

Ned nodded in approval and entered the nursery. The room was lightened softly by the fire of some candles. Two beds were close to either side of the wall and a huge cradle was placed in between. To the foot of both beds two significantly smaller cradles were placed, most likely for the wet nurses’ own children. On a chair close to the big cradle sat the wet nurse from Dragonstone, Emma, who turned her eyes when Ned had entered and rose to curtsy before him.

“Lord Stark,” she said respectfully and smiled softly at him, “I’m delighted you’re well, M’lord.” He echoed her smile with one of his own and came to a stand in front of the cradle, seeing two babes lying peacefully within, facing each other with shut eyes.

Confused Ned looked up, “Shouldn’t there be another cradle.” Emma blushed lightly and laid her hands on her stomach.

“They do have each one of their own, M’lord. I mean, they did and they will again,” she explained, increasing the redness of her cheeks and only fueling Eddard’s slight confusion, “One of Lord Jon’s cradle’s leg was in a bad condition. Wylla’s gone and asked for another cradle for him. Just mere moments ago, M’lord.”

Ned still smiled at the flustered woman and shook his head, “It is quite all right Emma. I was just curious, that is all.” The young wet nurse sighed in silent relief and Eddard looked once again down to the cradle. Jon was noticeably bigger than Daenerys, yet only in comparison with each other, someone would have called him big. Both laid a couple of inches apart from one another on their sides, their close-eyed faces on the same level, the heads resting on a soft pillow. Their soft patches of hair, one dark-colored so obviously Stark, the other silvery-blonde leaving no doubt that Valyrian blood ran through her veins. It wasn’t the contrast of their hair color however which was the focus of his attention; it was Daenerys marginally smaller hand resting on the back of Jon’s that was. A crushing moment of clarity swept away his smile, tore painfully at his heart and made him touch their cheeks softly with his calloused hands, the thought that neither of both would ever know their own mother.

The following morn he woke early. After a modest breakfast, he prepared himself and his entourage to set out for the Barrowlands. Ned had sent a raven in which he had informed Lady Barbrey of his coming. His men were hard at work and much to his satisfaction it did not take long until they were ready ride. Once again Lord Manderly, with his family and his vassals, awaited him. Both sons still looked tired from the feast and Ned had little doubt that the cups of wine they drank made it a formidable challenge to have woken up to bid him farewell.

“Lord Stark, it was an honor to have a guest such as yours at our hearth,” Lord Manderly praised and went to his knees. “My house and I wish you good fortune on your ride. May the gods shield you from any harm and misfortune, My Lord.”

“You and your family have my thanks Lord Manderly,” Ned answered, taking in the salty smell of the sea close by, “I hope the gods will protect you as well.”

Eddard mounted his horse and nodded a final time to his hosts, before leaving White Harbor.

The further they got into the land, the stronger the remains of the winter still loomed. The air still held its spicy, refreshing odor, the one only a cold day could offer. He loved its smell, always had and the North offered it more so than any other place he had been. The wintery conditions made the march more tiresome than he had hoped for, but still far better than in the depths of winter. With the exception of a broken axel after the third day of their ride, and a young soldier growing sick, little happened. “You all right Wylis?” Eddard asked, looking carefully at the feverish looking boy, who flashed a tired gaze at him.

“Quite all right, M’lord. Nothing a good stew wouldn’t take care of,” Wylis assured. Eddard hoped that a simple stew would suffice.

It was a mundane endeavor, but one he was rather familiar with after the war, the difference only the lack of anticipation that two armies or more would cross their swords with one another. The absence of that anxious feeling was a double-edged sword, it seemed. Time moved far less swiftly and the days appeared to be twice as long. There were a couple of inns they crossed where they sought shelter for the night. Most nights they were offered a stew of differing quality and taste depending on the inn, except once when they got served meat of a deer. It took a week and some until they reached Moat Cailin. Eddard had taken the Gatehouse Tower as his seat. The holdfast had been stocked before they arrived, offering an opportunity to resupply their carts. It would take another fortnight until they would reach Barrowtown. Ned sat at his desk reading letters from the ravens. Many of them were from the South, but one was inked by his wife, telling him of their healthy and growing son and that everything in Winterfell was in order.

Guilt filled his heart while he read Lady Catelyn’s words. He hadn’t consulted her about any of this, did not inform her about Jon or Daenerys. He was sure that it would become a strain on their marriage in the years to come. _I hope she will forgive me one day_ , Eddard wished remorsefully, _I am not sure I could_. He held the letter firmly between his fingers and his thumbs, while his eyes were fixated on the joyful words of their son. A soft, yet firm knock tore him from his thought and with a fast motion he refolded the letter.

“Come in,” Ned commanded and with a soft creek the wooden door opened. The guard positioned at his chambers entered and bowed, behind him stood the couple of inches smaller Howland Reed.

“Lord Reed wishes to enter, M’lord,” the soldier stated the obvious.

Eddard nodded, “Let him enter. Close the door after you leave.”

The soldier hesitated for an instance, but bowed obediently and made room for the small crannogman to enter. After Howland treaded into the room, the door was shut behind him. On the first glance little had changed since the first time Ned had laid eyes on the young Lord of Greywater Watch, but that was not true if one looked a little more closely. Stripped away was the last shred of youthful cheeriness in Howland’s eyes by war and death. _That and more_ , Ned thought solemnly.

“Lord Stark,” Howland said and knelt before him. They hadn’t talked much, neither at the feast, nor on their way to Moat Cailin. However they had ridden beside each more often than not.

“There is no need for that Howland,” Ned said and rose from his seat. After the Crannogman stood up too, Eddard grasped his hand and put the other on his shoulder.

“I haven’t thanked you for anything you did Howland. Just half of it leaves me forever in you debt,” Eddard praised him, with a twinge of sadness hidden within. A rueful smile curved on Howland’s face and he shook his head.

“I did my duty as your subject and your friend, Ned,” Howland answered and clapped lightly Eddard’s upper arm with his free hand. “Besides, you saved my life countless times on the battlefield. I think we’re even on that regard.”

A short laugh escaped Eddard’s mouth, the first for what felt like a very long time. It sounded alien to his ears, an unfamiliar remnant of an almost forgotten life, which reminded him how little time had actually passed. Sometimes it felt to Ned that he lived two different lives, the one before the war and the one afterwards.

“It is not just that for what I am grateful, my friend,” he said in a whispered tone. For a number of heartbeats the room was filled with silence, not in discomfort but in contemplation. Howland’s emerald orbs looked thoughtfully into his.

“ _That_ I do not only for you, Ned,” Howland responded kindly. Eddard’s chest tightened, but a small smile graced his long face betraying the battling emotions in his heart.

“When are you going to depart?” Eddard asked and took a seat on the chair again, motioning for Howland to do so as well.

“At first light if my men do not forget to saddle the horses,” Howland answered while sitting down, “My heart longs to see Jyana, my daughter and Greywater Watch. For more than just a meagre day.”

“As does mine,” Ned agreed, “It is only words I have of Robb. No matter the detail of the letters, they are a poor excuse compared to what your own eyes witness.” They chatted on about the state of Greywater Watch, their children and wives, yet Ned knew that the most important words were shared already.

True to his word, Howland Reed and his men were already gone before Eddard’s own entourage was readied to continue their way home. Sometimes an unflattering thought crossed his mind, proposing to send Willam’s steed with a messenger, while he made his way to Winterfell. He chastised himself for those moments of selfishness. Willam’s memory deserved better than that.

In the days they rode, the air grew warmer and the fields of snow were melting into small, lonely heaps. After the muddy soil became earthier, the speed of their march significantly increased, but it was Wylis’ worsened condition that halted them. His fever had gotten worse, shivering in the cot that had been built for him, mumbling incoherently to himself. _The gods are cruel_ , Eddard thought sadly.

“Wylis,” Ned said calmly, as he took the hot, almost burning, and sweaty hand into his. The incoherent mumbling stopped and his eyes shifted to Ned, the familiar fear of what was about to come noticeable.

“M’lord,” he whispered weakly, “Please, tell my mother I fought bravely, tell her I did my duty.”

“I will, soldier,” Ned promised with a sad smile on his lips. It was then that Wylis slipped something into his hand, a small modest looking necklace with a small piece of carved wood on it. “What is that?”

“It belonged to my father, M’lord. It’s a piece of ironwood, carved… a wolf. He gave it to my mother as a wedding gift and she gave it to me before we marched south,” he explained in a pained voice. “I know I ask a lot, M’lord, more than someone of my status should, but please, could you give it back to her?”

Eddard looked at the hopeful, pain-stricken boy, hardly older than five-and-ten namedays. He shivered lightly and sweat ran slowly from his forehead down his temples. “I promise,” Ned answered and grasped Wylis hand stronger as if to affirm his spoken words further. Only half a day later Wylis had passed away, just before dusk had settled. The mood grew more and more solemn, while a couple of men buried his body. Eddard checked if anyone else grew sick as well, but to his relief none showed any signs of sickness.

Despite the solemn shift in mood, both babes were surprisingly quiet on the road and barely gave a sound, only occasionally whimpering when they got hungry. Particularly Jon was silent as a windless night for most of the time. It took a fortnight and three days after they had left Moat Cailin when they finally arrived in Barrowtown. They were welcomed by all the houses of the Barrowland, led by House Dustin and its head, Lady Barbrey and her brother-in-law, Robert, and his wife, who were flanked by the members of House Stout. All knelt before Eddard when his steed came to a stand. He knew of Lady Barbrey’s and Brandon’s affection for each other, how deep that affection ran however he could only speculate on.

“Lord Stark,” Barbrey’s voice rang strongly, “Barrowtown is yours.” Lady Dustin was a beautiful woman, tall and curvaceous. She was dressed all in black, her brown hair styled into a knot. A feeling of discomfort settled in Ned’s stomach. It was the first time he rode into someone’s home whose husband or family member had died in the war. Under his orders. Eddard dismounted his horse, nodded to Hullen who had taken care of William’s red steed and handed Ned the reins.

“Arise,” Ned ordered, watching the nobles and small folk alike stand. Barbrey shifted her eyes curiously from him and the steed beside him. “My Lady, I bring you back this steed you have gifted your late husband with. He told me of it on our travels and his fondness for it. It would have been his wish to bring it home.”

A glint flashed in Barbrey’s eyes, in a way Ned did not know how to interpret. The moments her sight rested on the steed seemed to stretch eternally long until Barbrey overtook the reins with a tight grip.

“Thank you Lord Stark for bringing back my husband’s,” Barbrey paused, her eyes refocusing on Ned’s, “horse.” Eddard felt a feeling of discomfort. He was not quite sure why that was, but in some way Lady Dustin seemed to be displeased.

“Please Lord Stark, we have prepared a feast in your honor,” Lady Dustin said, a small smile on her face that just seemed out of place. “Follow me if you will.” Ned simply nodded, unsure of what else to say or do. The feast was more modest than in White Harbor. While the food was plentiful and of greater variety than on the road, it felt and tasted stale compared to what had been offered in the halls of New Castle.

_Their Lord, brother or husband has died not too long ago_ , Eddard chided himself for the unflattering comparison, yet he could not shake off the feeling of coldness surrounding him. Lady Dustin sat next to him at the dining table. Not a word was exchanged between the two of them and Eddard couldn’t find an opportunity to initiate a conversation. Although music was played, even the merrier songs like ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’ sounded less jubilant than usual.

“My Lord,” Barbrey began without turning her head to look at him, “I am quite tired. Please excuse my lack of fortitude and enjoy our… hospitality.”

“Of course My Lady,” Eddard answered calmly, “May I escort you to your chambers?”

After his offer Barbrey finally spinned her head to watch him. She remained silent for a number of heartbeats; neither her face, nor eyes giving anything away.

“That won’t be necessary, my Lord. There are more than enough barrow knights who’ll get me safely to my chambers. You don’t have to chore yourself to such a mundane task,” she declined politely, yet there was a sharpness to her words she seemed unable to veil.

“It wouldn’t be a chore at all, My Lady,” Eddard said, rose from his seat and offered his hand. “I insist.” As it seemed a habit of hers, Lady Dustin remained silent, regarding his offered hand thoughtfully.

“As you wish, My Lord,” she finally said and took his hand. The path to her resting room was hardly lighted. It left an ominous sensation on him; prolonging the discomfort he felt ever since he entered Barrowtown and gave Lady Dustin her steed.

“I am sorry for your loss, My Lady,” Lord Stark began. He had not given her his condolences before, however it always felt inappropriate do so until now. Barbrey did not react in any obvious fashion. Her soft steps hollowed in the dark and stony hall.

“As am I, Lord Stark,” she answered her voice void of any emotion. “How did he die?”

“In battle,” Eddard retorted, witnessing the clashing of swords in front of his eyes, and the moment Willam was struck down by the White Bull, “Doing his duty.”

“I am sure he did,” her carefully measured words followed, “When am I to expect my husband’s bones, Lord Stark?” Eddard came immediately to a stand, looking surprised at the Lady of Barrowtown. Realizing Ned did not move further, she stopped herself and turned to look at him.

“My Lady, I…” he hesitated, reaching for the right words, “We buried him, right after he died.”

“Is that so?” she questioned coldly, her anger no longer hidden behind her dark eyes. “Please tell me Lord Stark, was it too much of a burden to bring his body back to his ancestral home? Considering that your sister’s arrived in Winterfell, I have a hard time believing that reasoning.”

“My Lady,” Eddard started, his chest painfully tightening with guilt, “Many other Northern lords gave their lives. I wish I could have sent them all home, you must believe me.”

“Aye, I am sure you do,” Lady Dustin answered in a voice that has lost nothing of its coldness, “Yet you deemed it important enough to bring back your sister, the woman that caused that war to begin-“

“Don’t,” Eddard commanded sharply, both hands balled to fists, “You may direct your anger at me, Lady Dustin. The gods know I deserve it, but I won’t allow you to speak ill of my sister. Not even under your own roof.”

Lady Dustin’s lips formed a thin straight line, her brown eyes burning with fury and the fingernails of one hand seemed to pierce painfully into the palm of the other. _You have not made a friend today_ , a voice whispered in his head that sounded painfully like his father’s.

_Is this how my lordship begins? Alienating my vassals and friends alike? Making enemies at any corner of Westeros?_ Never did he feel as inadequate to be Warden of the North, _Brandon would have dealt with this. With charm, a smile and howling laughter._

“I think I can walk the remaining path alone,” Barbrey’s icy voice announced. “I am in much need of some solitude. Goodnight, Lord Stark.”

Without awaiting his farewell, she turned and walked further through the hall. Her echoing steps were a taunting reminder of his insufficient leading skills. With a soft sigh he turned himself and walked back to the feast. He most definitely would not indulge Lady Dustin with his presence longer than necessary.

The following morn rose early as usual. He ordered his entourage to get themselves ready for the ride home, surprising a few for being aroused from bed even earlier than usual. The sun had not even touched the horizon yet, but Eddard would not overstay his welcome; more so than he already did, at least. Both tired looking wet nurses were holding their respective children to their chests, neither making any sound at all. It was only Lord Stout and a couple of barrow knights who saw them off.

“I apologize for My Lady’s absence, Lord Stark,” Lord Stout explained sheepishly, his young sons standing near his side, looking curiously at him. “Lady Dustin is not feeling very well. However, she bids a safe ride to Winterfell.”

_I am sure she does_ , doubted Eddard, but kept his tongue and nodded.

“Thank you Lord Stout. And thank Lady Barbrey for her hospitality.” With those parting words they rode off. Some of the tiredness wore off after Barrowtown was well out of sight and the first rays of light came into focus. _A dozen days until we finally reach Winterfell_ , Eddard thought delightedly. His gloved hands gripped the reins of his horse tighter and the strong need to start a fast gallop filled his mind, to reduce a journey of twelve days to only six, but Ned knew that would be a foolish thing to do. Eddard’s mind often drew from his memory. Most of them came unbidden, yet many were bittersweet and broke his heart anew. He remembered his youthful days with his beloved sister and Benjen in the Godswood playing without a care in the world, when words like war had been abstract concepts incapable to be understood by their youthful minds. The memory of Lyanna’s uncharacteristic tears the day he left to be fostered at the Vale. She had never hugged him as long as on that day, not even the day their mother had died.

Thoughts of his beautiful Lady from Dorne and her always teasing purple eyes emerged many hours a day. That moment he delivered her brother’s sword, it was the only time he had ever seen her sad. It broke his heart anew that he was the source of it and that it had to be the last memory of hers. She was a woman so full of life every time he had laid his eyes on her; now drained of any enjoyment the moment he held Dawn for her to take.

_“My Lady,”_ he recalls himself saying, no explanation given, holding out the sheathed sword of her deceased brother in his arms. No words needed to be said for her to understand what happened and an expression that was already burdened by the raging war, grew even worse.

_“Thank you, Lord Stark,”_ and it had been that instance something deep within had faded away, caused by a painful squeeze of his heart. Never had she called him Lord Stark before or anything else but Ned or Lord Ned to affectionately tease him. There was always affection in her voice, always cheerfulness noticeable when she spoke to him. Now all he heard was grieve and regret.

_“I am sorry,”_ he had whispered, almost whimpered in shame at the emotions he had caused her, but it was her next words that tore his heart to shambles.

_“So am I.”_

To hold his sister’s dying body in his arms and see Ashara’s grieve, caused by his actions, left his heart wounded and Ned doubted that even time could ever fully heal it. Only the sight of his birthing place on the horizon soothed the pain that was caused by those memories. It was a clouded day, the sky grey like the direwolf on the banners of his house. It was a somber reminder of the duties that had to be fulfilled by him in the years to come.

The entire household with his wife at its peak welcomed him with warm smiles on their faces and a sad one of his younger brother. All knelt before him when his horse came to a stand and he dismounted from it. His wife made a step towards him, all smiles and happiness, holding the little bundle of their young son. A smile of his own shaped itself on his face at the sight.

“My Lord,” Catelyn said softly, her deep blue eyes shining brightly, “Your son and heir, Robb Stark.”

He held out his arms, to finally hold his son for the first time. Catelyn did not hesitate to make another strode forward and put their son into his own arms. Ned was in awe when he looked down at the baby boy in his arms, with a small amount of auburn hair on his head. His eyes were closed, yet Ned did not doubt that the soundly sleeping boy had the same eyes as his mother. He was sure that his mother would have written in one of her letters if he had the same eye color like his. Not that it bothered him that Robb had the Tully eyes.

His head turned to the two women sitting on the cart holding Jon and Daenerys in their arms. He nodded his head for them to come forward which they did immediately.

“My Lady, I present to you our ward, Lady Daenerys of House Targaryen,” Ned began uncomfortably, while her wet nurse Emma stepped forward and curtsied before his wife. Catelyn did not show any sort of displeasure or anger, something that relieved him greatly. “And my son Jon.” Wylla was obviously better trained in treating with nobles, doing her curtsy with far greater expertise than Emma did, however it was something that Eddard barely noticed. What he noticed was that instead of the warmth in his wife’s eyes, there were two icy glaziers looking back at him. Her cheeks and ears reddened, something he would have thought endearing were the circumstances different, and her upward-curved lips morphed into a straight disapproving line. Soft gasps and mutterings could be heard from the rows behind.

“My Lord,” Catelyn said politely, her voice bare of any emotion, “Welcome back to Winterfell."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really hope you enjoyed it! In the future I will try my best not to let you wait as long as you had to for this chapter! As I said in the beginning, kudos and comments are very much appreciated and are very motivating!


	5. The Child King (Viserys I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viserys, with Ser Willem's help, is successful in fleeing from Dragonstone and the Usurper's grasp. On their journey to Essos he struggles with the burdens that are thrust upon him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... *cough* It has been a while and I sincerely apologize for that. Most of you probably thought I have abandoned this fic and I can hardly blame anyone for drawing that conclusion. I don't even have a satisfying explanation except that work offers little time to actually write. What I'd like to say though is, that I am almost finished with the next chapter which is five years later and from Dany's POV. Despite all that, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter... It's quite short, but the last chapter of my prologue arc.

Chapter V

The Child King (Viserys I):

 

The storm had passed, and the Gods at long last have shown some mercy on him. Viserys cared little for it though, still seeing repeatedly his mother’s sad and haunting smile. She had been in pain, she tried to hide it, but he knew. And all he could do, was to stand helplessly in the distance. That had been all he had done when everything had started to fall apart. His family, once the greatest dynasty the world has ever seen, now no more but a memory in some big, boring and soon to be dusty tome. He did not fully understand what was happening around him, not really. All he knew was that nothing was to be the same and that only he remained of what once was his family.

_The last Dragon_ , a voice, so painfully like his mother’s, whispered to him.

He clenched the crown in his hands, tight enough that the tips of his fingers started to feel numb. He hardly cared. Numbness was better than this constant, piercing pain his heart had to endure. Almost every day since their departure from Dragonstone he had to fight the tears from shedding free. The first days had been lost causes not matter how hard he fought against it, crying himself to sleep, wetting his pillow and holding his mother’s crown close to his chest. It was both a source of comfort and despair, a reminder of what he lost and what he ought to be.

 “ _You’re king_ ,” his mother had told him, shortly before he had to depart. “ _Never show weakness to anyone. You’re a dragon. Be a dragon._ ”

His mother’s voice had been weak, yet her words had held so much strength. _How can I fare without her by my side_ , he thought bitterly, his tears threatening to come forth.  

_Perhaps she survived_ , he mused, a glimmer of hope igniting in his chest. _Perhaps she bore the babe before the usurpers’ dogs could arrive in Dragonstone and left as well. To come for me._

A soft smile tugged at his face, the heaviness of his heart lightened. _If the gods are kind, all may be well. Mother will come for me!_

A soft knock on his cabin’s door tore him from his thoughts. Viserys sat up slowly, but did not mutter a word. However, that did not hinder the person from entering. He should have known that it was Willem Darry. No one else ever entered his room.

“Your Grace,” he greeted Viserys in a gruff, but friendly voice and pointed to the crown in his hands. “I see you hold to your mother’s crown still?”

_Mine now_ , he thought defiantly. All that was left belonged to him now, as little as it was.

“I will give it back to her, after she reaches our destination as well,” Viserys promised. A look of pity crossed his protector’s face. It confused and infuriated him.

“Your Grace, there is a possibility your mother…” but Ser Willem did not finish his sentence and took a long breath instead. “We might have to consider that you’re the last of your family.”

“I am not. I know I am not!” he answered almost venomously. _Who is he to tell me what to believe or not!_

Pity and disapproval shone eminently for a flicker of a moment on Ser Willem’s stern face. Viserys disliked that. He felt so confused and helpless, but he could not show it. He was a dragon. His own mother told him never to show weakness or it will be used against him. He _knew_ he was not alone in this world, a world that wanted to see him dead. He did not understand why, but he understood enough to know that some people wanted to take his life.

“When will we arrive?” Viserys asked, his tone far softer now, looking desperately at the carpeted floor below him. He had heard that some men grew sick while being on a boat, but he did not feel any discomfort. Getting through the raging storm had been uncomfortable though. Once he had gotten thrown against a wall harshly and his bruised back was still a testament of that.

“If the winds favor us, we should arrive at dawn,” Ser Willem answered. “Perhaps a raven will arrive with words about Westeros too, Your Grace.”

_All I care about is if mother is alive and well_ , Viserys wanted to complain, but bit his tongue. Ser Willem always looked frowningly at him, when he said something of this sort.

_Why did you not come with me, mother? That child be damned_ , he furies, new tears threatening to break free again. _Am I not your child too? I need you!_

“Thank you, Ser,” Viserys forced himself to say. “You may go.”

Ser Willem bowed deeply and left the cabin, closing its door softly.  The gentle whipping of their boat had a soothing effect on his mind and the gods knew he desperately needed that. Despite that, sleep did not come easy, but it came, his lids fluttering to a close.

He dreamed he was at Dragonstone again. At least he believed it was a dream. Everything seemed blurrier than he remembered, less distinct, like the air in a blazing desert. He was in his mother’s chambers. She was lying in her bed, face contorted in pain which she was uselessly trying to hide.

“ _We must flee, Your Grace_ ,” Ser Willem argued energetically. “ _Some of the Usurper’s ships have broken through the storm, only the Gods know how they did it._ ”

“ _Then flee Ser_. _Take my son, your king, with you. He must live. He is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne,_ ” she demanded, her voice laced with pain. A pain filled cry echoed through the room, but Viserys could not move. His feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. Just now he saw the Maester crouching at the foot of her bed. Viserys tried to think of something to say, anything that came to mind, but nothing. His mind was void of anything.

“ _My queen, I can’t leave you here_ ,” Ser Willem protested and Viserys was thankful for it. “ _The traitor’s will have your head, of you and your babe. Leaving you here would be a death sentence._ ”

Viserys shuddered at that. He felt like tears should start to rise, but his eyes stayed dry.

“ _And taking me with you would be a risk to my son’s life_ ,” his mother retorted. “ _I can’t walk, Ser. Not in this state. I’d risk your lives as much as that of my unborn child._ ”

“ _My Queen…_ ,” Ser Willem pleaded desperately, now looking helplessly to his direction. He still had not moved a muscle. Couldn’t, despite urgent attempts to reach his mother.

“ _Go, Ser. This is a command_ ,” she ordered, her dragon’s voice coming to the surface. “ _Keep him safe, with any means necessary. Go, now! Before it is too late_.”

The scenery changed, fire ignited around his mother’s bed, while Ser Willem tried to pull him from his spot. “ _No. Don’t touch me! I am a dragon! I am your king!_ ” he tried to screech, but his words were not vocalized. A thumping noise echoed from the door, like a massive force was pushing against it from the other side. Only a mere moment later the door burst open, torn from its hinges and splinters of wood flying all around. Four massive creatures entered menacingly, an enormous stag at the center of it, with antlers forged of steel. A wolf with grey fur, red gleaming eyes and a frothing mouth, bearing its teeth. A golden lion stood on the other side, green eyes gleaming violently at his weakened mother’s form. Above them flew a broad-winged falcon, ready to launch at his helpless victim. They did not hesitate, rushing forward in violent delight and tearing at her. Her tortured screams filled his ears, blood pouring from her form that was surrounded by these savage beasts, the surrounding fire seemingly harmless to them. Ser Willem carried him further and further away, his right arm achingly stretched toward his devoured mother, silently screaming at the picture in front of him. The wolf turned slowly towards him, its muzzle soaked in blood and a little, lifeless silver dragon between its terrifying jaws.

Viserys woke with a start, his entire body drenched in his own sweat. He was breathing heavily, grabbing desperately at the nightstand, searching for the crown his mother has given him.

_It was just a dream_ , he assured himself, pressing his mother’s sole memory to his chest in comfort. He could not truly remember her talking to Ser Willem. He had only been once at her side when the birthing had begun and Ser Willem had not been with them. He shook his head, everything was so confusing and nothing made sense to him anymore.

_It was not her sending you away_ , he realized with increasing pain. _You left her. You should have ordered them to stay or to take her with us. That is what a king would have done._

_They will pay for their treachery_ , Viserys thought defiantly. _Vengeance will come upon them in abundance. With fire and blood!_ He found little sleep for the rest of the night.

Ser Willem entered his chambers at the first flickers of dawn. Of course, the old knight had not asked for permission to enter, which became an increasing annoyance for Viserys. He did not have to be wakened, not really. Tiredness soared through him, but after his nightmare true rest was no longer viable this night.

“Your Grace,” Ser Willem greeted and bowed deeply. “We will I arrive Braavos soon. Perhaps you would like to come on deck before we enter the harbor?” His voice was soft and friendly, and Viserys was not sure what to make of it. Silently he rose from his bed, nodding solemnly in answer to the knight’s suggestion. While he changed into more presentable attire, he sniffed at his skin and grimaced at the smell.

_After we’ve reached our temporary home I need a bath and wash this stench off me_ , he promised, walking slowly up the deck. His stomach grumbled slightly, making him reconsider whether he should eat or take a bath first. After he entered the surface he was immediately greeted by a huge, stony structure. It was a wondrous sight to be seen and even in his gloomy mood he could not help, but stand in awe. 

A roar erupted from the Titan and Viserys’ eyes widened in fright.

“It signals the coming of dawn, Your Grace,” Ser Willem informed him. “It roars every hour and at dusk as well. One of the great man-made wonders of this world. I thought you might want to see it.”

Viserys only nodded in child-like fascination as they carefully navigated between the enormous stature’s legs. He wished he could have seen it under different circumstances though. He gripped the railing with his small hands and looked with impatience as they neared the harbor. Viserys did not really mind the sea, still, he preferred solid ground under his feet. The sailors worked with experienced efficiency after they anchored at the port. All goods, as few as they were, got carried from the storage compartment and Viserys watched as the men worked tirelessly. One carried the chest with his belongings, including his mother’s crown which he had stored in it before entering the deck.

“Your Grace,” Ser Willem voice said, tearing him from his observation. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Viserys answered, straightening his back and trying to sound kingly. The harbor was already busy at this early hour, men were shuffling, carrying and ordering around, making a conversation difficult to be had. Waiting for them was a hooded man at the end of the pier.

“Ser Willlem, Your Grace,” he greeted them with a deep voice, his face hidden in shadow, gloved fingers coming forward, offering a small rolled up paper to the knight at his side. Ser Willem nodded and the men left them with a short, yet respectful bow.

Ser Willem tore the wax-seal from it and unrolled it slowly. He scanned its content, his emotions unreadable to his youthful eyes. He had already started to learn his letters, but he was not particularly good at it. Which was why he looked at Ser Willem with a demanding look.

“Your Queen-Mother bore a girl. She named her Daenerys Stormborn,” Ser Willem answered carefully, not taking his eyes off the scroll. “She was taken hostage by Lord Stark.” An edge of surprise was noticeable in Ser Willem’s voice.

“So… my sister lives?” Viserys said, half-question and half-statement. Sir Willem nodded.

“Aye.”

“And my mother?” His question was answered with silence, a dark anticipation burdening his heart.

“Your Grace,” Ser Willem finally started carefully after what felt like an hour of pause. “Your mother… She… She did not make it. She passed away after giving birth to your sister.”

The loud and active dealings around them became nothing more but a faint noise. His heart thudded painfully against his ribcage and he wished to do nothing more but to scream, allowing his pain to pour out of him and to unburden the ever-increasing sorrow of his heart. He knew it would only be a short-lived relief and perhaps worse, making him look foolish. Anger, fear and desperation all interweaved into an unstillable thirst for vengeance.

_I WILL take back what is mine or will die trying_ , Viserys swore to himself. _And every single traitor and their families will pay with their blood. Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Arryn and Tully. Rivers will turn red. That I promise_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice any mistakes or inconsistencies (besides the very obvious canon divergence), please let me know. I try to keept them at a minimum, but tend to overlook stuff at times. I hope I will be finished with Dany's chapter in the coming days, with a bit of luck even today, but will need sometime for editing stuff. 
> 
> At this point I want to thank TomSevenstrings, who helped to come up with a couple of ideas and edited the last chapter! Read his fic A Bane of Blood, it is awesome!

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the timeline thing is a little messed up. I ignored it blissfully. ^^  
> If anyone notices any mistakes, no matter if it's about the lore, grammar or spelling, please tell! I am more than willing to listen to any kind of constructive criticism. Regarding the character Maester Qwin: I don't know if it was ever mentioned who had been the Maester on Dragonstone in Robert's Rebellion, so I simply created a new character with basically the first name that came to my mind.  
> I hope you liked it! :)  
> And thanks again to the comments and Kudos! They keep me motivated. :)


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